NIGHT VALE - phone-in show
by jammywho
Summary: Cecil has to adapt to a new medium and what better way to do that than by introducing an element of audience participation? Guests call in from beyond the grave and from beyond the realms of normality. But what about the demonic man running through dreams? Well never mind him. He's harmless.


Where do words go when you erase them? What happens to the dreams you forget? Why does aeroplane food taste so bad?

Welcome to Night Vale!

Diddly doo…

Diddly dum dum dum.

Diddly dum…

Diddly do doo…

Welcome Listeners

We have had reports from several sources of a shared dream containing elderly Caucasian man tattooed with demonic sigils running, sweating wine and screaming "Oh God, oh God, we're all going to die". If you encounter such a man in your dream, do not approach him, and most definitely do not taste the wine he leaves behind in puddles. It's a particularly poor vintage.

You may have noticed the change in medium toady. The Night Vale Community Radio Station is being experimental today in an attempt to appease the ever enigmatic Station Management, who have recently been making noises sounding like the Devil's pitchfork severing the strings of an angel's harp. As confirmed by old lady Josie, a regular listener who had this to add; "those demonic forces and their filthy music. It'll come to no good I tell you"

We would like to remind Station Management that Old Lady Josie's views are not representative of this programme and that we believe they have as much right to express themselves musically as anyone, especially old lady Josie, whose taste in gospel electro fusion this broadcaster finds disturbing, if eerily fascinating.

Anyway, we took their incomprehensible roars of despair to mean there were tired of a formulaic radio broadcast and thus we have temporarily changed to a literary format, which means my words go not to your ears, but penetrate straight into your mind, and occasionally, your bowels.

(Disclaimer: if you are finding my sultry, dulcet tones in your stool, consult a physician or your local shaman. Welcome to Night Vale apologises for any inconvenience, but bids a warm welcome to any latrines who take an interest in the programming.)

Furthermore, our structure will be changing somewhat, as we will actually be accepting calls from local Night Vale citizens. Unfortunately, due to the current format, only those citizens who possess telepathic powers will be able to communicate with the programme. However there is a telephone booth on 3rd Street that allows you to communicate directly into a person's consciousness, so by all means call in, but be aware of the horrible brain melting side effects and a charge of two dollars a minute. Two dollars a minute? Extortion, I tell you.

Now; the Traffic.

Wow.

Is that car doing what I think it's doing?

Oh, it isn't.

Never mind.

I'm not even sure it's a car.

No, it's a beetle on the window.

But if that beetle believes he's a car, who am I to stop him?

Listeners, you're about to experience a Night Vale Community Radio first. This is the first on-air caller the show has ever had. And I believe it's from the after life, actually. How fascinating.

Gosh.

Hello, spirit world. It is I, Cecil Baldwin. I call out unto you. I pray you, tell us your name.

"Dave."

And tell us, oh wise apparition, were you once human before you passed beyond the mortal plane to that undiscovered land?

"What?"

Are you dead?

"Oh. Yeah."

The mortal world receives you, Dave. What Earthly dealings have caused you to speak from another dimension unto us?

"Taxes."

Ah. That old one. So tell us, Dave, what aspects of taxes are troubling you.

"Well you know when they say 'death and taxes are the only certain things'? It turns out death isn't that true. Taxes sort of keep going on, though."

Well, that's the Sheriff's secret police for you.

We're in a privileged position here, listeners. Oh he whose name is Dave, what can you tell us if anything about the other side?

"Oh I don't really want to say. I'm quite shy."

I understand, oh marvellous Dave. But would you please enlighten us as to the majesty of the afterlife?

"It's… uh… well it's nice for a holiday, but you wouldn't want to live there."

Thank you for your time, oh, essence of former Dave.

"Cheers."

Well, listeners, wasn't that insightful? I do hope the Station Management are satiated enough with our groundbreaking radio firsts, lest we have to offer them tribute of emperor penguins. While we're here, we'd like to thank our sponsors at the Night Vale zoo for donating so many penguins over the years.

An update on the dream man now.

Not to be confused with Carlos, who is my dream man.

Carlos…

My apologies, listeners, as a professional journalist, I try so hard not to let my personal feelings interfere with my broadcasting, but sometimes I fail you. It's Carlos, you know?

Anyway, it turns out that the man is local resident, Thomas Hughes, who was merely trying to leave Night Vale, but took a wrong turn and ended up in our collective subconscious.

This information brought to you by the Sheriff's secret police, who don't yet understand why Thomas would want to leave Night Vale when it has everything anyone can ever need; fresh food, tourist attractions and a mortality rate of 0% (when rounded down). As such they have taken him in to be questioned on the grounds that Thomas was insane.

The demonic sigils burned into his skin were merely a bold fashion statement, and, I am assured have nothing to do with a ritual sacrifice to the dark gods.

And now The Weather.

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I am so sorry listeners, it appears the Weather is having trouble adapting to this new medium. In the mean time, please entertain yourself with the music of the void.

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You are ninety nine point nine nine percent empty space.

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And that empty space is growing all the time as we all get further away from each other and from any concept of reality.

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Until the nothingness consumes anything and everything that constitutes existence leaving us with bleak empty fiction.

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DOESN'T THAT MAKE YOU FEEL CALM?

It certainly calms me down.

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Ah. Soothing.

What's this? Another caller? Aren't we a busy bee today Night Vale?

Obviously this isn't true of Night Vale's indigenous bee population, who haven't produced a drop of honey in their life. They just tend to lie around all day and watch reruns of _Seinfeld. _Get it together bees!

Hello, listener, who may I say is calling?

"Icarus Flux"

Greetings Icarus. And may I ask what you do?

"You know how people say the gays cause hurricanes?"

…Yes?

"That's me. The Gay Wizard that causes blizzards"

Wow. That sounds interesting. And catchy.

"I was thinking of having it printed on my business cards. I don't know if you remember my old business card? I made them rain everywhere."

Oh! I remember that! You're the weather magician that controls the skies…

"And likes to kiss guys. That was mine, yeah"

Tell me, would I recognise any of your work?

"You know the glow cloud?"

That was you?

"No, but mine happened on the same day. Mine was an invisible cumulonimbus."

Yes. I remember not seeing that. Tell me, dear viewer, what brings you to the show?

"Well I notice your weather section never actually involves any weat…"

I'm sorry, Icarus, I can't hear you. You may need to speak up.

"I said your weather forecasts don't…"

We're all waiting, Icarus. Are you still there?

There's no weather! No weather I tell you! I will not be silenc… beeeeeeeeep"

Oh dear, is that the phone cable I just cut? With these scissors? The ones in my hand? What a shame. I don't think we'll be able to receive any further calls, viewers.

Which is probably for the best, as Station Management are making guttural, primal noises again, which obviously means they're not happy with the new format. Oh dear. We shall try to appease them with our offerings of abstract thoughts and chocolate, before they swallow another intern face first.

But in the meantime good night, Night Vale.


End file.
